


Thoughts of You and Me

by Tipsylex



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8318713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsylex/pseuds/Tipsylex
Summary: Lying in bed Harold thinks about himself and John.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I'm rubbish at titles and summary's  
> I'm not completely happy with this, it started out as one thing and then turned into something else.  
> I've re written it several times but it's not getting any better but I thought I'd post it anyway.  
> Not beta'd so any mistakes are mine.  
> Sort of a follow on from my other story Six Months Later but you don't need to read that one first.

Harold and John were lying in bed together. Harold was propped up on some pillows; John’s long limbs were draped around and over his body. Unusually they had been apart for a couple of weeks. The latest number had taken John to another part of the country, and it had been impossible for him to come home to Harold every night. Eventually the number was sorted, another victim saved, another perpetrator behind bars.

It had been a difficult time for Harold. He was worried that John would be in danger. They could communicate over the ear pieces and phones, but apart from intel, there was little else he could do. So when John had finally come home relatively unscathed, they had retired to John’s loft. Harold wanted to reassure himself that John was in one piece. They spent some time reassuring each other of their feelings with kisses, touches and quiet words between them. 

The numbers kept coming, sometimes several at once. It made life difficult even with the help of Detectives Carter and Fusco. After the stress of the last few numbers they needed some downtime. He smiled remembering the weekend away that John had managed to do for them. That had been almost 6 months ago now. He would like to do that again he thought, but perhaps somewhere more secluded.

There were occasions when Harold had wished they lived in a smaller city or a town. Perhaps somewhere where there were less people and fewer numbers to deal with. It was a fleeting thought as Harold knew that living in a small place meant that secrets were difficult to keep, making it hard to hide in the shadows. New York was a far cry from the towns both he and John had grown up in but, it was better for being anonymous. Here they could hide in plain sight. 

Harold had never had many friends; there had been Nathen and Arthur at MIT and a few others growing up. Leaving home he’d left his real name behind out of necessity. No one, not even Grace, the woman he had planned to marry, had known his real name. Now he was considering telling John. It was hard but he had come to trust John more than he’d ever trusted anyone else. Harold was finding it hard to imagine his life without him. 

Sighing he shifts slightly in the bed, John moves with him, his head finds its way onto Harold’s shoulder, his arm over his chest and his leg tangled in Harold’s. John’s hair moves slightly as Harold breathes, it’s impossibly soft and he loves to touch it but right now he can’t reach. John is a complex human being. Moulded and shaped by experience and those people whose lives he was a part of. 

Harold lets his mind wander through the things he knows about this man. He had often wondered what had attracted him to John in the first place. He’d found him (with the machines help) because he needed a partner that would treat the numbers and him with respect (Dillinger didn’t on either count). His skill set was perfect for Harold but there was something more. Over time, working with John had revealed something to Harold that he didn’t know about himself. Harold slowly realised that he had been lonely. He’d never considered it before, but since John had arrived he felt somehow complete, as though John had filled gap he’d not known was there.

He smiled as he thought about what he knew of John and his past. It was much more than John knew about him. One day he might rectify that but for now, even though he trusted John with his life, there would still be some secrets.

When Harold looks at John he sees a man, who is now a far cry from the homeless bum he’d found. He is over 6 feet tall, of medium build. His black hair is streaked with silver; his eyes a startling blue. He has a face that when he smiles crinkles in all the right places. His powerful hands are large with long slim fingers. His legs are long and powerfully built.

Harold remembers those first few weeks that John was working for him. John had used his wages to buy himself new clothes, but Harold had hated John’s choices. The leather jacket was an affront to his aesthetics when it came to clothing. Harold always wore a 3 piece suit (bespoke of course) and a tie; he wanted John to look business like so he supplied him with all of his clothing. The suits became a sort of uniform and had earned him the title ‘The Man in the Suit’. John had eventually expressed his preference for the dark suits and white shirts (no tie), the cotton or silk underwear, and fine leather shoes, to the things that he had worn before. 

The fine woollen coat he wears in the winter swirls around him like a cape when he walks. He doesn’t do it up because that would slow him down when drawing his gun. Harold, always worried that he will catch cold, manages to get him to at least wear a hat, scarf and gloves. The materials used are chosen for their comfort rather than durability. Harold laughs quietly to himself; he has had to keep a steady supply of suits for John placed in various safe houses as well as at the library. John seems to attract damage to him and them on a regular basis. His tailor is never going to go out of business while John is around. 

Even so John keeps his leather jacket, jeans and t shirts for riding the Ducati (a gift from Harold). Harold’s secret pleasure was measuring John for a new suit, (regardless of whether he needs it or not). He had noticed that after the first time he’d done it, John’s stance was ‘parade rest’, feet apart, hands behind him, looking straight ahead. It wasn’t until much later that Harold found out why John took this position. It was to distract himself from his possible arousal while Finch was measuring his inside leg.

Because so much of John’s history is missing, Harold can only imagine the things that he was trained to do, some is evident from the way he acts. Harold thinks that army discipline doesn’t seem to have extended to his taking care of himself, the number of times John has come back bleeding or otherwise injured is a constant worry to Harold. He is though, very disciplined when it comes to being tidy. The loft is spotless, everything put away, and his bed is made so that no one is getting in under the bedclothes without a great deal of effort. Harold sometimes wishes John would let him get a continental quilt, they are luxuriously soft and warm and they don’t need tucking in, but John won’t hear of it. Harold sighs.

Harold knows from what John has told him that the CIA made him use his attractiveness to obtain information. Sleeping with the target male or female became part of the job. Harold is glad that John doesn’t sleep with any of the numbers, to get his information. But Harold has seen the way everyone looks at John. There is no doubt in his mind what all of them, without exception, would like to do with him. 

Harold is touching John’s arm, he rests his cheek on the top of John’s head. John snuggles closer. Harold feels a strong wave of possessiveness, no one else was going to feel this man’s breath on their neck, feel his lips on theirs, if he had any say in it. They would never feel the way these killers’ hands could bring them to ecstasy with a gentle touch. John’s body was his and his alone. 

John was quite athletic. He tried to keep fit as much as possible. Harold loved to watch this tall muscular man run. He had wrestled with the thought that he was invading John’s privacy, but justified it as telling himself he was making sure John was safe. Harold had enjoyed running himself but that had ended with the ferry bombing. 

There wasn’t always a great deal of time for John to do as much exercise as he would like, but he was able to go to the gym to work out. And he practiced yoga whenever he could. Harold had hacked the gym’s camera feeds and noticed the reactions of the women in the yoga class to John appearing in tight yoga pants and vest. He felt a stab of jealousy watching the class watching John go through his paces. It was worse when they stopped to chat with John afterwards; they seemed to flock around him, touching him as they spoke. He wanted to slap their hands away and tell them ‘mine hands off!’. He knew John would be polite, even a bit flirty with the woman but that was his nature. It was hard for him to ask John about the class later, pretending he didn’t know anything. He wished John would do his yoga routine in front of him alone. 

Harold didn’t like weapons much but they were necessary sometimes he’d conceded; he tried to make sure there was time for John to go to the firing range to practice some of his less used firearms. John had reasoned that you never knew when he might need something a little bigger than his trusted Sig-Saur. 

John had a beautiful full smile that made Harold’s heart skip a beat. But John didn’t smile that often, he smirked, his lips twisting producing a variety of expressions from mild amusement to outright hostility. Harold had learnt how to read the slightest quirk of his mouth, or the slant of his eyebrow to tell what he was thinking. John did have an angry face, Harold had only seen it a few times but it was there, it was pure evil, a mask that screamed killer, assassin, and monster. But John wasn’t a monster anymore.

John’s life with the army and then the CIA had left their mark on him. John had suffered from nightmares, not every night but there were times when he woke up screaming and bathed in sweat. Before they had become a couple John would sometimes turn up at the library. Unable to get back to sleep and not wanting to be alone he would seek out Harold. If Harold was still there, they would talk and eventually John would fall sleep on the sofa to the sound of Harold’s voice. Now the nightmares are less frequent, John doesn’t have to go anywhere; Harold is there beside him, offering comfort.

Harold strokes John’s cheek, his long eyelashes flutter at the touch. He tries to move even closer to Harold. Harold sighs, looking at John amongst other things he sees a handsome, graceful and elegant man. His movements are economical, he moves with purpose. His long strides cover ground quickly and efficiently.

All of his skills, learnt in the army and CIA and honed to perfection over the years, are what made John the man he is today. They are what first convinced Harold that he was the right man for him. His attraction to John had grown slowly over time. Now John can hide in plain sight, it was difficult at first. An impressively beautiful man in a suit is hard to hide, but with careful management and practice at looking ‘ordinary’ he was able to blend in. Now no one would notice him coming or going. In Harold’s mind John was anything but ordinary.

When they are out socially for one of Harold’s aliases, he watches the people in a room gauging the effect John has. He is a majestic figure of a man, all Alpha male. When he wants to be he is an imposing presence in a room. John is hyper vigilant at all times, he could stand perfectly still, unmoving, but his eyes see everything, and he remembers everything. Scanning for threats, easy exits and possible problems was second nature to him. Harold was grateful for his abilities on more than one occasion.

Harold slid a bit further down the bed, felt a twinge in his back as he moved. He leant over to breathe in John’s unique scent, his hand resting on John’s arm; he placed a kiss in his soft hair. Harold thought about the first time he got in the car with John, he was a smelly, scruffy homeless bum with a taste for cheap booze. Now the man who lay beside and on him was clean shaven (mostly), smartly dressed. Well fed, with a roof over his head. 

His blue eyes could see into Harold’s soul, they changed colour with his moods. At first Harold had only seen the bright blue of a calm Reese, or on occasion the dark almost black midnight blue when he was angry. Once their relationship had turned physical he’d seen the blue somewhere in between, which coupled with a smouldering look, signalled the level of his desire. That look turned Harold on and John knew it and used it often.

John moved, his eyes opening. He grinned sliding his hand down towards Harold’s groin. “Harold” he said “I do believe you’re happy to see me.” Before Harold could reply he shifted so that he could kiss him firmly on the lips. Harold, flushed with arousal, kissed John back. All thoughts of John’s past driven from his mind as he gave himself over to John’s tender caresses and gentle lovemaking.

**Author's Note:**

> A continental quilt is a quilt, stuffed with down or a synthetic material and containing pockets of air, used as a bed cover in place of the top sheet and blankets. Originally from Europe and is also known as a duvet.


End file.
